The Darkest Nights Have the Sweetest Dreams
by Miss Uncreative
Summary: Oneshot. "Sandman saw him differently; he saw the situation differently. While North and the others knew only black and white – they were good, and Pitch was bad – Sandman saw the shades of gray, for he had seen the shadows." Non slash.


**A/N:** Hello, everyone! My first writing for RotG, so I'm pretty excited. :)

This oneshot was inspirted by this drawing - albu ms/mm247/miss uncreative/tumblr _mfbui7FfkA1s0nt0ho1_500_ - (just get rid of the spaces)  
(I don't know who the artist is! If you know, please tell me so I can give full credit!)  
I saw it and was like, "I NEED TO WRITE. NOW."

Now, I want to appologize in advance for any inconsistances. I haven't read the books, and I've only seen the movie once. I kind of morphed movie consistances and book consistances together. *shrugs* If it's poor, let me know, and know that I'm sorry.

I sure hope you all enjoy this (and thanks for the artist of the above picture; this oneshot wouldn't exist without you!)!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rise of the Guardians, nor the drawing that inspired this.

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_**The Darkest Nights Have the Sweetest Dreams**_

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Sandman saw Pitch differently; Sandman saw the situation differently. While North and the others knew only black and white – they were good, and Pitch was bad – Sandman saw the shades of gray, for he had seen the shadows.

At first, he saw Pitch as the embodiment of evil itself. How dare he take Sandman's powers and pervert them to destroy children for his own self-gain? How dare he hurt the children? How dare he?

Although he remained silent, Sandy's rage pumped inside him, demanding justice. He needed to stop Pitch; he needed to save the children. And so, he flew up and fought with all his might. He used every ounce of energy within him, throwing out every trick his dreamlits had. But it appeared as though Pitch had one thing: more power than Sandy.

It was then dark. So dark Sandy could not see his hand. It didn't matter, however, since he couldn't even feel his hand, nor could he feel anything at all. His body was numb and lifeless. It felt as though he was only a spirit floating in nothingness; and, perhaps, that was exactly what he was.

He felt emotions, though they weren't his own. They were Pitch's, he realized, and all Sandy could do was exist and feel them.

There was fear. So much fear that Sandy would have vomited up his insides if he could have. He would have sweat 50 gallons if he could have. He would have shaken enough to create earthquakes around the world, but he couldn't. The fear was so strong, he forgot everything and every feeling before then. He wondered how Pitch could love this feeling so much and wish it on children.

But he didn't love it, Sandy realized. In fact, Pitch hated it. It hurt Pitch more than it did Sandy. But there was one thing Pitch used to numb the pain, and that was power. This ideology that if he thought of power instead of fear, it wouldn't hurt as much. And that was what Pitch did. He used his hunger for power as a fortress to keep the fear at bay.

But there was a nagging. A constant nagging that came from behind, as though it was buried deep in the back of Sandy's mind. He could not see it fully, as hard as he tried, but he could still understand the images. It was Pitch's daughter.

Sandy did not see her face. He had no idea what she looked like, but he could feel her memory in a sense. For he also knew that the naggings were not real memories, but fictitious deaths of the daughter. She never died the same way, but she always died and she always said, _Daddy! I'm frightened._ Pitch always replied, _Fear is all in your mind, sweetheart_, and then he would be missing when she died. Sometimes, it was by the Fearlings hands. Other times, she was drowning, or perishing in a fire, or eaten by wolves. Sometimes, she was just sick, and still other times she would just disappear completely.

Sandy wondered why Pitch never had these naggings. Sandy assumed Pitch felt nothing, for he acted as though he did not. Sandy wondered why he had the naggings and not Pitch. But as time passed, and the naggings continued, he realized that it was Pitch's daughter who gave him a soul. To reconnect Pitch with the images, although they were bad, would reconnect Pitch to his former life.

The former life Sandy didn't know before then. He did not know Pitch was once the good guy, keeping the children from the Fearlings. He did not know that the Fearlings had tricked Pitch. He did not know the Fearlings had devoured Pitch's soul. Perhaps, Sandy then wondered, that was why the Moon had called him. With the one guarding the Fearlings now hosting them, there was a need for someone to give the children good dreams…

It was then that Sandy realized it was not Pitch who was the enemy; the enemy was the Fearlings. It was they who longed to scare the innocent children. Pitch was literally the embodiment of evil; and the Fearlings were the evil possessed inside. Pitch was simply a face, a soul lost. For without a host, the Fearlings had no power. But one could not destroy the base – one had to destroy the leader to bring down the company.

That was why Sandy was so enraged with Pitch. He was not mad at Pitch himself, although he appeared so to the other Guardians. In fact, his heart broke within him at the thought of Pitch's daughter. But Sandman could not destroy the Fearlings; he had to destroy the face.

And so he and the Guardians and the children did so. They defeated Pitch and gave the children courage enough to no longer fear him. Pitch was powerless.

Sandy had a sliver of hope. Perhaps, with his power gone, Pitch would remember the fear once again. Maybe he would repent. Maybe the Guardians could make the Fearlings return the soul.

But then the Fearlings seized Pitch and took him under the rickety bed, like cackling demons delivering a soul to hell. Sandy watched, even threw out his hand and flew forward a step as he watched Pitch dragged away. Sandy then watched the joyful smiles of the Guardians as they believed justice was served.

Of course, Sandman shook his head. They were good, and Pitch was bad. Justice was served, to them at least.

Sandy had thought the fearful feelings would leave him when his soul was free from Pitch's grasp. They did, sort of. The fear was gone, but the naggings weren't, along with the new nagging that justice had not been just at all.

But what was Sandy to do? He could tell no one of this. The Guardians wouldn't understand, for their souls had not been bound to fear for a time. Their souls did not experience Pitch's pain. There was no way to explain it in words (nor pictures) enough to make the Guardians, who saw Pitch as the evil one, see the truth.

Sandy thought and thought as he gave the children good dreams. Perhaps, he could distribute justice himself. After all, he was a Guardian, was he not?

But no. They wrongs were so stacked up against Pitch that a million years of rights could undo such damage.

But there was one thing the Sandman could do.

He knew he could not go the Pitch's lair. For one, the Guardians wouldn't understand. And for another, the Fearlings would love to see him gone (again). So he worked up his power, and then sent his dreamlits to do his work.

They traveled far, and Sandy was nearly drained by the time the dreamlits arrived. Just as Sandy predicted, the Fearlings whinnied and bucked, but they had no power. Not with the children no loner scared of Pitch, which with their host powerless, they were as well.

Pitch wasn't sleeping, which was expected. Obviously, Guardians never needed sleep (save for resting up to regain power, like a rechargeable battery). But Sandy knew, from his experience, that Pitch would never be able to sleep with fear so strong and so close. Pitch leaned against a wall, sitting alone with the Fearlings thrashing, as his eyes grew heavy.

The dreamlits came over to Pitch. He only half realized it. His face looked gaunt and sickly. Sandy figured as much; without his power, Pitch was feeling the Fearlings' control head-on with no shield.

The dreamlits floated around his head, and Sandy gave him a dream of his daughter.

Not of her death, like the naggings had given Sandy, but instead a beautiful dream of Pitch and her playing tag within a meadow. Pitch and she swimming in a river on a summer's day. Pitch and she climbing up a tree to the highest branch.

And finally, she telling him how much she loved him as he held her in his arms.

The Fearlings charged at Pitch and the dreamlits, but they formed a full barrier around Pitch as they continued the dream.

But it suddenly ended. Sandy's connection was lost between Pitch and the dreamlits, who were then by his side as if nothing had happened at all.

Sandy sat, confused. Things were going so well…what had happened?

He was hoping, praying, that reminding Pitch of his daughter would set him free from the Fearlings. But perhaps it was too late long ago; could someone's soul be undevoured?

He hoped, at the very least, he had given Pitch a new fortress. Perhaps, if Sandy could not rid the Fearlings, he could at least help Pitch keep them at bay.

And that was what he did. For no one, not even Pitch Black, deserved a life of nothing but hurts and fears.


End file.
